And It Feels Like
by Bryher
Summary: Oneshot. It was something neither of them could place. They denied it, but love has a knack of getting there in the end.


**Title;** And It Feels Like

**Rating;** T

**Summary;** Oneshot. OC Character with Gawain. Inspired by Leanne Rimes' _"And It Feels Like_".

**Disclaimer;** I own neither the title, nor the Knights. I only own the OC and the plot.

**Warnings;** Fluffy and pointless. Was in the mood for writing. Would appreciate feedback! 

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* * *

Dust trailed in the dry air, the loud, mocking calls of the carrion birds in the fields beyond spurring her feet to faster paces. Chest heaving desperately for air, Isla stumbled, a small cry escaping her mouth as her hands snatched blindly at the cumbersome skirt that tangled itself around her legs. Here and there, signs of panic and despair- an abandoned basket, contents spilled onto the dry ground, a hoe upright in the tilled soil…_

_Isla clenched her teeth, hiking her skirt up as she raced towards the towering spire of black smoke, nimbly dodging trees and shrubs as her feet carried her through the familiar path to her village-_

"No!"

Her dark hair plastered to her neck, back and cheeks, light brown eyes swimming with tears, Isla gripped the coverlet, breaths coming in quick and sharp bursts. 'Don't think about it. Stop thinking about it.' She thought desperately, throwing off her blankets and standing, thin shift doing nothing to protect her from the draught coming in from under the door.

Closing her eyes, mouth twisted in sadness, the young woman threw open her shutters and leant her elbows on the windowsill, head in her hands.

* * *

Gawain looked up at the cry, eyes following the sound to a pair of closed shutters in the back of the Praetorium- which were promptly thrown open. His heart began to hammer against his chest.

It was Isla.

His eyes sought her face, though, buried in her hands, he knew he wouldn't be able it. Her thin shoulders trembled as her dark hair fell around her tightly embedded pale fingers. Concern shot through him as the young woman withdrew from the window and pushed her hair back from her face, disappearing from view. Eyes thoughtful, Gawain drew back into the stables.

* * *

The scent of herbs strong in her nose, Isla straightened, putting the hellebore safely into her basket along with the many other herbs assigned for collection. Sadness clung to her like a shroud this day. Memories from her dream clouding her thoughts. Turning, she picked up her skirts slightly, hoping to avoid snagging them on the sharp rose thorns on the bush beside the small herb plantation. Looking up, her breath caught in her throat.

Sir Gawain of Arthur's Knights leant against the Wall, looking out over the fields as his young friend, Galahad, spoke. He wore a soft smile on his face. Isla felt her cheeks colouring as she picked up her steps, keeping her eyes down.

* * *

"…And then I sai- Gawain, are you listening?" Galahad asked suspiciously, looking askance at the blonde. Gawain started, grinning sheepishly. "I was thinking."

"About Isla?"

Gawain flushed. Galahad grinned. "I...she-"

"Tell her."

"I…can't."

Galahad gave him an incredulous look. "You taught me everything I know about women, and you can't speak to one?"

Gawain shrugged, picking idly at a loose thread, face steadily growing redder. "She's different."

* * *

"He's different, Vanora." Isla insisted, wiping out a beaker before placing it on the back shelf for use later that night. "I don't know what to think." Vanora smiled gently at her. "I think you should think about how to let him know you're interested."

Isla almost dropped the beaker. "I can't _tell_ him!" She yelped, shocked. "Gods no! What if he rejected me?"

Vanora snorted, bending down to examine a tearful Four's scraped knee. "He won't."

"Oh aye," Isla said dryly, "Sure."

Vanora simply gave her a knowing look, before picking up her offspring and disappearing into the back. Isla sighed, leaning against the bar, chin on one hand. 'What am I going to do? It feels like… what?'

* * *

The rain drummed steadily into her as she ran along the footpath towards the fort, drenched to the skin. Her eyes were blinking rapidly as the drops of cool liquid dripped into them, tears from the sky making patterns down her pale face. Lifting her skirts higher, Isla lengthened her stride as she neared the fort, desperate for some kind of shelter from the driving rain.

Dashing into the stables, she half turned, looking out of the door- "Oof!"

The solid thing she had run into went crashing down, her on top of it. Wincing, Isla pushed herself up on one hand, the other massaging her temple, which struck the object first.

Suddenly, she froze, feeling the warm, moving flesh of another person below her.

Perhaps it wasn't an object after all.

Gawain tensed as Isla looked down at him, dripping rainwater onto his jerkin. Her eyes widened in horror as she began to squirm off him, babbling apologies.

"Gawain! I'm so sorry, oh Gods, here, let me help you up! I'm so sorry! Are you alright? I've been so clumsy-" Gawain's finger pressed against her full mouth, silencing her as he stood, the other hand wrapped around her upper arm pulling her up also. "I'm fine," he said firmly, lowering his finger. "Are you alright?"

Isla looked down, "I'm fine, thank you." Gawain frowned, raising her chin until her light brown eyes met his blue ones. "You've banged your head." He observed quietly, gentle fingers brushing lightly over the already forming bruise on her temple. Isla closed her eyes, leaning into his hand.

Carefully, Gawain lowered his head, pressing his mouth slowly to hers.

Isla's eyes snapped open, but quickly became half lidded and lethargic as she responded to the coaxing, loving caress of the blonde knight's mouth. Pulling her more tightly to him, Gawain smiled again Isla's soft lips. It was...amazing. And it felt like love.

Silently, in the far corner of the stables, an irritated Lancelot handed a grinning Galahad ten denari.

* * *

Please review. 


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